Nail down the hatches, spare a thought for your mattress.
A wind that tears wood from the stairs, it's beyond disrepair. It's madness.
And they sing this is not the end
Calm down the embers. Soothe your burnt skin, your tendons.
Man's liberty charred to debris. A fire walks with me, remembers.
And they sang this is not the end
The curl of a lisp (carried on), the crest of a wave. Lapping lonely legs of the pier.
Salt-engrained surf lips (sting along), a splintered wood craving. Jealous biting at barnacles.
You're the deepest blue, yet so shallow around my post.
A memory marooned, and harpooned. Carved up at best.
An arcade in my brain, and you need that entertainment
to stop you from sinking these ships.
Let your tide rise to meet my lips.
And they sang this is not the end
Carbon can't pretend